Poems
by KoreanCat
Summary: America is in a relationship with England, but doesn't know he's cheating with France. Russia tries to get him to notice through secret poems making no sense to him whatsoever. Will he ever figure it out? (Bad description, I know)- RussAme, FrUk, UsUk. Rated M for later...
1. Prolouge

'_Oh, how silly they are... Can't they see?'_` Russia pondered. The meeting room was loud and boisterous, lots of shouting and movement. Everyone was either arguing or doing nothing and staying silent. America was yelling at England, his face furious than ever. His hands shot up in the air, his voice louder than usual. England stood there and, defending what seemed like his life, and argued in a more calmly matter.

'_So oblivious and young my American friend. Can't you SEE?' _Russia giggled quietly, thinking about how strange the western countries were. France stood behind England, looking very nervous, shaking slightly. Russia rested his head in his hand sighed, gazing at America intently.

'_My dear, dear, America. The truth is there, I can see it. Must I tell you? Must I read it to you? My love, may a poem suffice..?'_ Russia thought sweetly, humming Korobeiniki.


	2. Chapter 1

America slept soundly, his breathing light and his eyes closed with content. The sun poured through what little space there was from his thick heavy curtains.

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_ "Ugh..." America groaned. Instead of hitting the 'OFF' button, he gladly decides that knocking his alarm clock off his table and breaking it was a much better idea. He facepalms and rolls over.

"Again..." He grabs Texas from under his pillow and puts them on lazily. His door opens slightly, and Canada gently looks in.

"Hey, good morning... What do you want for breakfast..?" He yawns and rubs his eye. America pondered for a bit and rubbed his chin.

"Pancakes sound good right now." Canada nods and shuts the door, leaving America in his thoughts. He jumps off his bed and takes off his shirt. It lands on the bed without a care as he continues to his closet of MANY t-shirts and jeans. He searches through each rack, softly mumbling '_No...No...No...'_ He gladly took a gray shirt with the word 'Meh." on it and grabs a random pair of jeans. He heads down the stairs, almost tripping on the last step.

"Today is so gonna be my lazy day... Gonna eat junk food, go to England's house and cudd-... Uh. Sorry." He realizes his brother is staring at him with a slightly annoyed face. Canada just rolls his eyes and serves him his pancakes with a bottle of syrup.

Its quiet as they eat, just the sound of chewing and muffled movements, slightly awkward.

"Well, other than your plans to 'cuddle' with England, I really think you should get started on your presentation for the next meeting. It _is_ in 2 weeks." Canada suggests. America pretend to think and takes another bite of his pancake.

"Yeah, sure. This is a big meeting though. Our bosses are supposed to come, and then there's a formal party afterwards." He frowns at the idea of a fancy suit. He takes a last bite of his breakfast and drops his plate off at the sink.

"I'm gonna get the mail, hold on." He grabs his bomber jacket off the rack next to his door and slips on sandales. Upon opening the door, he is greeted with a large gust of wind. He shivers slightly and heads toward the mailbox. There is a large stack of mail, like he hadn't checked it in a week.

"Junk, junk, junk... Pizza Hut coupon! Junk, junk, junk... Huh?" America looked through his letters rather messily. A strange red envelope with no return address lay in front of him, only his name on the front. He stared, slightly confused. He noticed a small sunflower drawn in the corner where the stamp should be, but chose to ignore it.

"Who would send me this weird letter..?" Tore it open and took out a folded piece of paper. Inside was a beautiful handwritten poem saying:

_~..::.. ..::..~You don't understand, my dear~..::.. ..::..~_

_Even if it is so truly_

_and plainly there._

_In front of you lies_

_the truth and abides_

_what could really be_

_and what really is there._

_The truth you wonder,_

'_How can it be?'_

_The truth you seek is_

_The truth that you surely see_

_What you fear the most,_

_Has sadly come about_

_Whether you scream_

_or_

_Whether you shout_

_Think about it my friend_

_No matter how many times_

_You seem to talk,_

_The one love you think you_

_**WANT**_

_May not be the one you __**NEED**__._

_As lies are spread_

_So gently about,_

_Come and seek_

_Or figure out_

_~..::.. ..::..~What you think I mean~..::.. ..::..~_

"What... Who sent this?" America adjusts his glasses and rereads the poem again. He flipped it back and forth, trying to look for a name other than his. He looks both ways and folds the paper several times before shoving it into his jacket pocket.


	3. Chapter 2

I would like to say that I'm really surprised with the favorites and followers. Being a total noob at this, I feel really proud. Thank you for that. It seems that you people actually like whatever I'm putting on here. This chapter is a bit sidetracked, but it has some meaning to the story later. Bear with me... ( I'm sorry these are so short by the way.) :3

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"My America, this is only the beginning." Russia takes a shot of vodka. He taps his fingers on his table and sighs contently.

"You do not know, I am going to lead you on a heartbreaking journey, my friend." He pours more of his treasured alcoholic drink into the shot glass, spilling a bit on the table with his shaky hand. He was drunk, "only" having 8 bottles so far.

'_I wish I didn't have such a high alcohol tolerance...' _He was a bit upset, thinking about America. His plan was perfect, but it would take too long. He just needed America to know the truth, and then he was all his.

"I hope that first poem was a hint." His tired eyes slowly closed, and he was passed out on the counter.

His large home echoed with the sound of wind coming through an open window. It was cold to a normal person, but to Russia, it was like any other day. He slowly woke up, slightly groggy. He had a massive headache, so he grabbed painkillers. Grabbing a few, he washed them down with the rest of his leftover vodka from the night before. Bad idea.

"Я чувствую себя как дерьмо..." He threw the bottle on the floor, smashing it into millions of shards.

"большой" When he felt sick or when he was heavily drunk, mad, or sad, he seemed to forget the English language. He kicked the shards in anger and took off his jacket, leaving him in a tank top. He fell on the couch and groaned.

'_It is not enjoyable being a country. Your wounds heal, but you live for centuries remembering the pain. When war or sickness breaks out, you feel your body wracked with pain. Scars accumulate over the years and you don't forget.' _He knew this saying applied to him. Living for much longer, in a much harder life wasn't fun. His mind and body are both scarred heavily. Being a child only surrounded by bloodshed, everyone thought that was all that he knew.

Innocent at first, being shy and him and Belarus depending on Ukraine, was a much different time. A time where he hadn't cracked.


	4. Chapter 3

_Knock, knock, knock._ America waits anxiously outside of England's door. He hears shuffled movement and hushed tones. America widens his eyes.

'_There's someone else in there...'_ The door opens to a red faced England. He pants lightly, looking fairly shocked to see him there.

"America what are you doing here? I'm busy with my... Presentation. Yeah." He blatantly lies. He mentally face palmed, noting to come up with a better excuse.

"I know now isn't (apparently) a good time, but I called three times yesterday. I just wanted to check up on you. You're really red..." England blushes even more. He kept looking behind the door, and facing back.

"I'm really busy, please." England shuts the door, leaving America standing there. He's frozen, unable to comprehend what had just happened. He stand there for a few minutes, listening to more shuffled movements and hushed tones. The wind blew strong, winter was upon them.

"England..." America whimpers. He was desperate for his love. The love he first found several months ago. Now he treats him like a friend. A friend he hasn't seen in years. He flips up his dark hood and shoves his hands in his pocket. He reluctantly backed away from the whitewash door, and ran.

'_I miss you! Why are you doing this to me!'_ A ran down the street, slightly tearing from his eyes. His hood slipped off, his blonde hair blowing crazily in the wind. It was long way home.

"Goddamnit America! You shouldn't have come! Shit..." England runs his hand through his hair and furrowed his thick eyebrows. France hugged him from behind and swayed lightly. England hugged his arms back, but still was truly upset. He peeked behind the curtain, watching America stand there. They made eye contact for the smallest of a second, and ran. He saw him.

'_My secret is surfacing...' _England worried. He was suddenly angry, pushing France away, straining to slap him.

"Angleterre! What are you-" France tries to hug him once again. England only backs away.

"You bastard! This is all _your_ fault!" England punches France in the stomach. Not hard enough apparently. He only pushes through, fully embracing him.

"G-get off me, frog face!" England struggles. France pets his hair, hushing.

"Angleterre, shh... Its okay, oui? He won't find out." England slowly stops struggling, and just stands there, looking at the ground.

"He will. Its only a matter of time. I have to leave." England harshly pushes France and bolts out the door. He slams it as loud as he can before jumping into his car.

"Wait!" France opens the door to see him pulling out of the driveway. They look at eachother. They both frown.

"I hate you so much..." He finally reaches is street, after a long run of half an hour. All the houses look the same, he has to keep track of which house is his. He slows down to a walk and slouches. He's more suspicious than anything else.

'_Is he cheating? And with who? WHO?!' -_"AGH!" He reaches his house and kicks his mailbox in anger, breaking the wood and spilling all of its contents out.

"Shit." He frowns and picks up the broken mailbox. He suddenly throws it in the street, not caring if anything would happen to it. He squats, and picks up all the mail, hoping Canada will look through them for him. He checks what they all are, and there is another red envelope. Very much alike the first one he got two days ago. No return address, a sunflower in the corner, and his name.

"Who's sending these?" He rips it open, accidentally dropping the letter. He again, looks both ways before picking it up.

'_Same paper too..' _He opens it, and sees the poem.

_Do you see it now?_

_Do you see the meaning?_

_How is it?_

_Are you mad?_

_Are you sad?_

_This is only a game for them._

_How long will it take?_

_Days, weeks, months?_

_Its only a game for them._

_They're playing with you,_

_pushing you to the edge,_

_testing to see,_

_How long will it take?_

_A rose's thorns are sharp,_

_They'll prick you_

_They'll scratch you,_

_They'll hurt you._

_Their beauty is only a lie,_

_They truly don't mix well._

_They'll taunt you,_

_Flaunting itself._

_Showing off its blind conviction,_

_They know, and they don't care._

_Its only a game for them._

_Your rose is only trying to hurt you._

"What the hell? A rose? What's this about?" Is this the game? He doesn't get it. He takes out the other poem, and looks them both over.

"This game is what the other poem is talking about. I still don't understand..." He takes both poems, and walks inside, ignoring the other letters and throwing them into the street too.

He walks into the house and hides the letters behind a shoebox in his closet.

"What's happening!?" He takes off his glasses and throws them at the wall. They shatter, and small glass pieces are sprinkled on the carpet.

"Ugh..." He sits on his bed and puts his face in his hands. It started to snow heavily, the precious flakes already sticking to the window.

Its white beauty is only causing him to suffer worse. It reminded him that it was cold, and lonely. Canada wasn't home.

"England, what's going on?" He sighs and rubs his face.


	5. Chapter 4

I'm so sorry for the long delay! Please forgive me! I was in Korea and then New York City and I then I had graduation and then and then, and then..! To wrap it all up, I got hit by a car! It wasn't serious, but it's a reason for my delay! I'm so so so sorry!

This chapter a little longer than the last. I'm gonna do a system where each chapter gets a bit longer, so bear with me!

I can't believe I have this many followers, I thought this was crap! T^T

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Russia sits at his desk, thinking hard. There is a long piece of paper and a red envelope next to it. He taps his pen on the table and looks at the ceiling.

"America, I know you're getting closer to the truth." He sighs and and writes something down. It was fairly dark in his large house, having a blackout wasn't very fun. He had 5 small candles on his desk, three were not lit. The snow was very heavy, flying about in a frenzy. Most would call it a devastating blizzard, he would call it everyday. He picked up the envelope and headed towards the door, grabbing his cellphone along the way. He dials a number, and calls.

"привет Lithuania." He speaks with his heavy accent. There is sigh on the other end.

"Hello, Russia. Do you need me to deliver another letter?" He asks quietly as if someone was listening.

"да." He ends the call and slips on boots. He opens the door and grimaces when he is met with immediate snow. Being cold wasn't much of a problem, it was the way the snow hit. He shuffles through heavy blankets of white tundra and reaches his car, not surprised the door is frozen shut. He pulls the handle with great force, not succeeding the first time, which agitated him. He tried once more with anger rising up and got it open, hearing a loud crack.

"Ah... Oh no..." He rubs his face with dismay and enters the car. The door creaks as it closes. He starts the engine, and doesn't bother to turn the heat on.

'_What a horrible drive...'_ he sighs.

Lithuania hangs up the phone and heads to the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of vodka and pours it into a mug, lacking any real shot glasses. He was slightly nervous, even after all those years. Once something is planted oh so gently, yet forcefully in your head, it stays for a good deal of time.

"Russia should be here soon..." He quickly places the mug on the coffee table in his haste and quickly hurries to the door, ready to greet the large man. He soon hears a car roll in his driveway. He takes a deep breath.

"Lithuania, I am here." He pounds the door rather violently. The door creaks open, and a small "Hello" was barely audible. He pushes his way through the door and sits on his couch, knocking the trembling man backwards.

"I have some vodka there." He gestures towards the mug in front of him, his hand wobbled. He only nods and quickly grabs it. Lithuania sighs in relief and hold his hand out. Russia hands him the red envelope without looking and continues to enjoy his drink.

"I will deliver this now, you may leave when you feel like..." Lithuania nods and walks towards the door. Russia only smiles his sweet, yet somewhat creepy smile that has the effect to make anyone cry to their mothers.

"Phew... Okay, gotta deliver this dreadful thing..." He brushes himself off and walks to his car and unlocks it, hesitating to get in.

'_Honestly... What's in this thing..?'_ He yawns and gets into his car. He turns on the engine and pulls out the driveway, only to park a block away from his house. He hastily opens the letter and widens his eyes.

"To America?" He carefully opens the letter and gasps, his cheeks turn rosy. His hand covers his mouth and he looks around, making sure nobody saw. The letter is gently put back into the envelope and sealed away like nothing happened. Except, something happened.

"Oh my..." He pulls his cellphone out and calls his two "Baltic Brothers."

"Estonia? Latvia? Russia... Russia's been writing love poems to America!" He whispers. There are two loud gasps over the phone and quiet chatter.

"You can't tell anyone, okay?" He makes a hushing noise and shoves the phone back into his pocket.

The Cat's out of the bag, but how far will it run?


End file.
